So, my Aunt Pat got me a Kindle Fire for Christmas. I was stunned. I guess I shouldn't have been so much, since she's bought me many very nice, sometimes expensive gifts over the years. Honestly, I won't be using it for books much, as I love the feel of a real book in my hands, and it cannot be replaced. But it's still a really cool device. I loaded it with some important documents concerning my writing, since I often write on the rare occasion when I go out.

And I did get a book. One of Gabby Bernstein's. She's a cool person, who talks about loving yourself and believing in miracles. And she keeps everything sounding fresh and cool. I actually have both of her books now. Now, the question is... will I get anything from them? The only reason I wouldn't is because of me, myself, and I. All three of us are resistant to change, even when it comes bearing friendly gifts.

In Add More ~ing to Your Life, I'm being told to mix changing, healing reflections with moving. Oh, Dear... none of that sounds possible for me. I mean, I'm me. I don't change, I don't feel good about myself, and I definitely don't move. At least, not without extreme anxiety. Maybe I'm too far gone to be saved?

And then, Gabby talks about a boy she liked in 6th grade calling her stupid, and how that continued to affect her even she she was writing the book. ...wow. Wow. 6th grade, huh? :/ You too, Gabby? Then, she says: "These thoughts have become completely beyond your control - they're second nature by now. You identify so closely with them that they embody your perception of yourself." Yep. That sounds about right. But am I really ever going to believe that those words aren't true? That Seth was wrong?

I'm supposed to write down limiting beliefs that I have, then cross them out and replace the words with affirmations. I didn't want to even try that. That's how resistant I am about this stuff. I feel that if I can start to convince myself to go from "I'm not good enough." to "I am wonderful as I am today.", as the books suggests, I'm certain that someone will come along to tear me back down, and it will only hurt more. At least if I stay the same person that always answered Seth's "You're ugly."s with "You're right."s, no one can ever hurt me worse than I hurt myself.

I'll never find my soulmate. Morgan is waiting for me. No one would ever want to be with me. He wants me just as I am. I'm ugly. And fat. ... ... ... Yeah, I can't seem to correct that one. That should give an idea of how hard this is. I won't even bother going into the never being a good enough writer, or the idea that my friends don't care about me because they rarely even send a message my way.

I'm wonderful as I am? That can't be true. :/

Next, I'm supposed to dance with my emotions. Dance. Why has dancing been getting under my skin lately? I guess I should explain this one. Years ago, Mallory and I put two ideas together and created Spun of Silver. The story is about us traveling to a castle in Ireland and finding magic and mystery. And love. This is where Morgan first got his name. When I first started believing maybe there was someone wonderful out there for me. Maybe I didn't have to be cursed to only fall in love with those who'd only hurt me. My romantic ideas included Morgan teaching me to dance. It was a beautiful fantasy.

That fantasy is long gone. As I'm finally writing this story that really started to shape my ideas of soulmates and true love, I'm coming to realize Morgan will never teach me to dance. I came closer to the scene, writing myself as honestly as I possibly could, and I could see that this approaching scene that used to be romantic was only terrifying now. And I wrote myself having a huge panic attack. Just because Morgan had his hand on my back and wanted me to move with him. Morgan, who loves me truly and endlessly. It doesn't matter that I, as the writer, knew that. I still couldn't dance with him.

In real life, I wouldn't even believe him. Because if I let myself believe someone could love me, I'll only get hurt when I find out it isn't true. All those hurtful words I received all my life are chains binding me in place. Yet if someone - whether it be a spiritual teacher, a true friend, or even my prince of heart - would come to me with a key, I'd be more afraid of the outside world than my prison. 'And besides,' Vanessa says,'the only one who could love you is me.' And I believe her, because no one ever comes for me anyhow, and I don't have in me to escape by myself.

God, I didn't mean for this to become so miserable sounding. But well, I knew no book could help me. Sorry, Gabby. :(